


Wendigoner

by etherealApostate



Series: Gravity Fails [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, damn daniel back at it with the explicit gore again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:02:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8250055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherealApostate/pseuds/etherealApostate
Summary: Bill unwisely decides to take a wendigo alone, and suffers for it. Here are his moments after the fight.





	

For the first time since he’d taken this lasting corporeal form, Bill was close to tears.

The wendigo’s seared remains lay misshapen and black with blood a mere foot away from Bill’s feet. The whole cave was charred and stinking of smoke. Bill was slumped against the cave wall, his breathing haggard. His entire left side ached, the arm most of all – its horns had nearly gored him, its bulk had bruised his ribs, and it had only taken one vicelike squeeze of the creature’s massive hand to shatter his humerus at the center.

God, it hurt to move.

Bill was in a fog of pain. This sensation was entirely new – he had never been this badly hurt before – and a part of him reveled in the sheer _existence_ of the situation. Before, in his old dimension, existence had always been a mere logical consciousness. There were very few _stakes_ to it, unlike in a physical form on earth.

For the first time, Bill began to viscerally understand why humans were so weak.

He hated them for it, he thought, hated himself for it, as he ran his good arm up his face. His face, at least, his pride and joy in this dimension, had remained unscathed – or so he thought, until he closed his mouth.

A sharp pain instantly welled up in his jaw, and he registered the new sensation of a loose back tooth. Teeth weren’t supposed to move like that, he knew. Bill winced, and let out a little moan, and gingerly brought his fingers to his mouth.

Exploring his teeth, Bill found that all were stable except for one in the very back. He was now more aware of the jaw pain that had been eclipsed by his left arm and side; it shot dully up through his skull. He could feel the blood in every pulse, and he began to find his usual glee at his own pain transformed into a kind of manic anxiety.

Hilarious, yes, but it was the same feeling as the time he had laughed too long, and couldn’t stop, and couldn’t breathe, and had thrown up on the floor of the seedy motel room he and Dipper were sharing.

Dipper. Bill slid to the ground, and began to feel the wetness that wasn’t blood welling in his good eye. God, Dipper would know what to do. He would walk Bill through the pain, he would make it _good_.

But now Bill had to do this alone.

The left arm was helpless. The ribs, a little less so. Bill probed experimentally at what felt like burgeoning bruises (he could imagine, in the back of his mind, the lovely watercolor of flesh that was forming) and nothing stabbed into his organs. Nothing ground. Nothing… broken?

Bill decided to hope for the best there. Relentless optimism, relentless masochism, he thought. That was the way to go. He let out a little dry giggle, and a tear fell into his mouth.

The tooth. Teeth didn’t grow back, did they? He might as well take care of that now, while it was uninfected…. That was what Dipper would do. Wasn’t it.

As if in a dream, Bill reached into his pocket for his favorite folding knife, groaning slightly at the pain that this motion brought. He slowly pushed the blade open and brought it to his mouth. He imagined Dipper’s hand on his shoulder, Dipper’s fingers instead of his own on the blade, and steeled himself.

Splaying his lips wide, Bill found the loose tooth and wedged the knifetip under the bottom, again wincing. He realized his hands were shaking.

So weak, so unpredictable, so _neat_ , these human bodies.

In one quick motion, he shoved the blade into the crack between tooth and gum and jerked the bottom downwards, caused the tooth to pop up and out. He felt the connecting nerve snap and he reeled.

Now prone on the rocky cave floor, Bill caught his breath. He realized the tooth was still in his mouth.

Shaking all over, he tongued it to the center of his mouth and sucked.

Blood. Tissue. That was what he tasted. Bill rolled onto his back, nearly screamed from the agony, and heard his own laugh echo from the cave walls. Who knew he could taste so good!? Bill panted, and he could feel wendigo issue squishing under his hair as he lay his head back.

The tooth was still there; it had found its way under his tongue. Bill flipped it again into the center of his mouth, and again sucked. He imagined all its pearly beauty. He swallowed.

It brushed sharp against his throat on the way down.

Bill heard something worming against the narrow entrance to the cave. In a wild, animal state, he curled up into the darkest corner and pulled the wendigo’s corpse over him – there was no way he could defend himself from another enemy.

The warm blanket of flesh muffled his hearing slightly, but not enough to stop him registering the familiar voice that called, “Bill?” into the darkness.

Bill’s heart sprang unbidden.

“Dipper,” he croaked.

The footsteps came fast to the pile of wendigo and half-conscious Bill.

“Bill, what the _fuck_!” Bill grinned under a slimy girth of intestine. He actually sounded _concerned_ ….

“I’m, I’m ok,” Bill said, as Dipper rolled the wendigo corpse off him.

“Fuck, no, you’re not, you total idiot, I told you not to go this alone!” Bill recoiled inside at the anger in Dipper’s voice, but a small part of him reveled at the hurt he heard. Bill felt as if he had won something. Dipper _cared_.

“God. Let’s get you out of here,” Dipper said, and lifted Bill into a fireman’s carry.

Bill screamed slightly.


End file.
